


snowfall

by nastyworld



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Body Dysmorphia, Dubious Consent, Heavy Angst, High School AU, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Slight Feminization!Peter, Teenage Tony Stark, i imagined this as tobey peter but do u
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 08:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20561381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastyworld/pseuds/nastyworld
Summary: Peter holds the door, eyes slowly going up to watch him. Tony walks confident, like a man, like he's sure he's one.





	snowfall

He doesn't like the way he looks. He doesn't know if he ever will. Peter is only eighteen, his birthday just passed and he feels nothing has changed. He doesn't know what he was thinking, that maybe that his appearance would change, his hair would be much more manageable and maybe even the way he would speak would be charming; the adult charm that men often possess when they speak to women, to one another, to him. (It's the charm that leaves him breathless, the charm that makes his knees wobble and after a moment he's blinking, confused and trying to find himself again only to find himself strongly aroused in the process.)

He doesn't like the way he looks, he really doesn't. Soft legs with defined, muscled calves (that came from running away from Tony and his group after every class), thin torso and waist dusted with dots of dark, small beauty-marks here and there. He's a little hairy and he doesn't hate it, in fact, he loves it. It makes him feel that there is some masculinity about him, some, that he is able to show when there's swimming class on Wednesday, when his classmates then fully stare at him.

He never returns their stares. He can't bring himself to because he doesn't understand why they are looking at him in the first place. He has a faint idea why but he always shakes it off, dismissing it as one that comes from hopeful thinking and his low self-esteem. He knows he doesn't like himself, he knows he doesn't like looking at himself but when others do like him, and do look at him, he's elated in a way he can't describe (the feeling stays with him for a brief moment but long enough to enjoy).

"You got anyone to take you home?" Tony asked him this today, smiling.

Peter wants to be Tony, he likes the way he looks. Masculinity; the broad shoulders of a male eighteen year old, the chiseled jaw, legs and thighs. Even Tony's fingers spoke of maleness. Peter stared at him, leaning close at the wall behind him. His hand that's gripping his book bag was all sweaty, and despite it being winter, he felt himself also start to sweat underneath his clothes.

"No." he said, soft, like always. He can't ever bring himself to speak like a man, to a man, to a woman, to anyone. No matter how hard he tried. He was a man, but not one at the same time. He doesn't like himself, he doesn't like himself at all.

"Then I can take you home. Where do you live?" Tony was encouraged because Peter spoke to him, and it has been ages since Peter has opened his mouth to him, let one to anyone in school. Most of it was all legs, running away from him and his group, which, strangely, weren't accompanying him today. So Peter eyed his surroundings, quick, making sure they weren't about to spring from somewhere and in his mind, he also knew he didn't want to meet Tony's eyes anymore.

"I live far."

Tony stepped close, "How far?"

Peter's eyes were on his again and Tony is smiling, staring down at him with his height in a form of almost playful dominance, and Peter felt that charm hit him hard and rough in the stomach. He shot his eyes down, suddenly fidgety and much more nervous.

Tony took his chin and raised it up immediately, and Peter's eyes were still down, widened and scared. He was breathing hard through his nostrils at this point. Tony was touching him, Tony was giving him this sort of attention he hadn't given him in a while and Tony was staring at him with that handsome, ridiculing smile on his face that makes Peter want to vomit his lunch and shut himself in his room for weeks, touching himself in shame.

(Tony smelled like a man too. Musky and earthy and Peter's eyes would flutter drowsily, imagining himself on Tony's chest, breathing him in deeply while strong arms hugged him with carefulness, timid love and longing.)

"Why do you always look away from me?" Tony brought him back, muttering amused and slow.

Peter blinked numbly before shrugging with a nervous jerk. "I got to go home."

"I'll give you a ride."

Peter slowly moved away from Tony's hand and shook his head stiffly. He turned, not seeing Tony's expression, or not even thinking to try, and gripped his bookbag tighter, legs beginning to walk. He had to walk away, he was given a choice to. If he hadn't been, Tony would've beaten him by now and his friend's would've been blocking the entrance, watching. But they're not around and Tony wasn't stopping him, so he went, trying to seem collected and unaffected as possible. And then he thought to himself something that made sense: A collected person would tell the person thanks for the offer of a ride home. Peter stopped as he thought this and turned halfway, licking his lips and quirking them at little. Tony was already looking at him, hand deep in his pockets.

"Thanks, um, for the offer." he said, warm with his softness. Tony's expression slightly darkened, so Peter turned away fast and left fast, heart pounding and trying to leap out of his chest.

"Happy birthday." He heard Tony say behind him.

//

Peter cries sometimes and it's the type of crying where he's quiet, shoulders jumpy after he takes a deep breath and where he's sitting on the floor of the shower where strings of his come still haven't washed away. He has his arms under his thighs and his head on his knees and he's just staring at the shower knob with hot tears mingling along the rivulets of water flowing down from his hair to his face.

He always cries after he's given himself a jerk off. Because he's jerking off to men, not to women; it's just not the way things are supposed to go for him apparently (and he thinks this with sardonic sarcasm and furtive looks at himself on the mirror) so he cries, feels shameful every time because he's unable to stop himself, no matter how much he tries.

"You in there?" his mother knocks on the door.

Of course he's in here, the shower was on and the bathroom door is locked. Of course he's in. But he raises his head slightly, eyelashes sticking wetly on each other making him more effeminate than he already is, "Yes, mom." he says. Soft. And he hears her sigh despite the hard patter of water. "I'll be out in a second."

"You better be." She walks away. He lowers his head to his knees again, eyes blinking sleepily. He's tired and all he's been really thinking about in the back of his head was how Tony wished him a happy birthday a couple of days late. It still makes his heart pound and he's too weak because his heart can only take so much.

He imagines.

Tony in the shower with him right now. Sitting in front of him, cross-legged with his muscled thighs and legs, rigid chest glistening and dripping, and that smile of his, lazy and playful. Peter stares at the space in front of him as if Tony's there and he smiles shyly, ducking his head when he pretends Tony's hand reaches for him.

"Why do you always look away from me?" Tony says through the humidity.

Peter doesn't look at the space in front of him again, save for when he needs to shut off the shower which happens to be ten minutes after his mom had knocked.

He gets out, towel covering him from his chest to his thighs and he gives a look around, happy that she hasn't seen him.

His mother takes a shower and heads for work. "Dinner's on the table," she leaves with a hasty mutter, the door slamming and Peter locking the door after her quietly. He turns to the kitchen and there it is, dinner like she promises everyday but he doesn't feel like eating; he just spares it a glance and walks off again back to his room to do his homework early.

As his foot touches the first step of the staircase, there's a knock from the door.

She forgot something, is what he immediately thinks because it was actually something that did happen from time to time. Peter drops his foot back on the floor and unlocks the door quick, so she can come in fast and leave just as fast, not being a minute more late for her job.

Except when he opens it, it isn't his mom already ushering in with annoyed huffs, it's Tony with his tut-tuts. Peter widens his eyes, lips parting and heart hammering in his disbelief. His head swims with thousands of questions all at once but at Tony's unexpected arrival, all he can really think about is how hard he's getting just by seeing him out of his uniform.

"Hey." Tony shuts the door behind him. "Oh. Like what you're wearing."

Peter's wearing nothing but a long white shirt that hides his black briefs. A flush hits him hard and his eyes are quick on the floor. He doesn't like the way he looks. "How'd--How'd you find out where I live?"

Tony stares at him, dragging and pondering. After a long moment, he just walks by Peter, looking around the house and not answering his question by any means.

Peter is scared.

He grabs the hem of his shirt and grips it tightly. In his mind, there could be two possible explanations why Tony was here: one, he wanted to hurt him, or two, maybe Tony wasn't here, maybe Peter was already upstairs, having fallen asleep in doing homework. That this was a dream.

Either way, Peter figures it's the first explanation by default so he watches Tony quietly. The other eighteen year old is grinning at his surroundings, loving it for some reason. He turns to Peter, eyes expectant.

"Where's your room?"

The charm hits him hard again and this time it's across his face because he can't move his lips. They're numb. He points up the staircase slowly and Tony jogs up before his arm is even raised. A long pause comes when he's finally upstairs and Peter's still down. He breathes.

"You coming up or what?" Tony sighs.

Peter nods, not knowing what was going on but goes up with unsteady feet anyway. It's there he quickly opens the door to his room and meets his eyes to Tony's who's looking at him. He shoots his eyes down again and feels himself harden more.

"Your birthday was a couple of days ago, right?" Tony doesn't look away from him when he walks over to the desk lamp, switching it off. Peter's heart is ready to throw itself out.

"Yeah, um, why are you, uh--" He shifts a toned leg. "Why...are you here?"

And there Tony pulls him flush against him, breath hot on his skin and hands gripping his ass hard and tight. Peter chokes, hands not knowing where to go as Tony walks him backward to his bed, throwing themselves on it with the bedsprings making brassy sounds.

He can't breathe, he really can't because Tony is on top of him, kissing him hard and rough, their teeth clanking and lips biting, and Peter doesn't know what he's doing either now because he's raising his fingers to Tony's hair and threading them nervously, desperately. Tony groans and rocks his clothed hard cock against his and Peter pulls away from his lips, eyes lidded, saliva trickling and reddened lips parted as he's panting; he needs air, he needs air. Tony's cock throbs on his and Peter shuts his eyes, he's pulsing hard too and his toes feel like they're burning in the cool air of his room.

Suddenly, Tony's hands find their way under his shirt and the next second he's hitching it up, exposing Peter's effeminate, flushed paleness. Peter really turns his head to the side now, raising a hand to cover the embarrassed, shy incoherent mutterings spilling from his lips.

Tony pulls his hand down and tells him to shut up and Peter raises his other hand, unable to help himself.

Tony's own hands are rough and calloused, and they reach at the sides of his briefs, pulling them down with shaky jerks. Peter closes his eyes again, his cock leaking a little as it springs in the air, throbbing and pink. "Fuck." Tony groans on top of him, feeling the hotness against his clothed thigh. Peter doesn't say any words now. He's just panting with high pitches here and there, and he feels like he sounds like a horny fourteen year old but it's just another thing he can't help.

Tony chucks off his pants quickly and now they're naked save for their shirts. Peter's black briefs are still around his ankles and he uses his toes to peel them off hurriedly when Tony is on him again, cock rubbing onto his wetly. Peter presses his head deeper into the bed, toes curling, making wrinkled streaks on the sheets. "A--ah." He hear his own breathy, unsure moans, the creaky bed springs and Tony's rapid panting.

"God, you're going to let me fuck you right?"

He does.

And it happens after a matter of minutes, just using spit and vaseline from on top of his dresser. Tony's in him, long and thick, pulsing and throbbing and Peter can see the stars. Everything feels like it’s exploding, like the world is ending— he's pretty sure of this so he doesn't think twice when he tells Tony he loves him. "I--I love you," he pants, legs hiked over Tony's shoulders, fingers sweatily gripping the sheets. He comes, hard and all over his and Tony's chest.

Tony smiles down at him, sweat glistening his above upper lip. He's nasty. He's sweaty. Peter loves it.

He's still riding his climax when he takes Tony's head and raises his own, pressing their lips desperately against one another while Tony breaks into heavy pants, telling Peter's he's going to come after he abruptly stops tonguing him and there, he does. He groans gutterly, giving him his last impacting thrusts that leaves Peter's cock smack hard against his belly, a white bead smearing onto his stomach. He comes in him and Peter feels.

Peter feels warm.

They go at it for a little more.

Tony's cock slides in and out of his mouth, slow, sensual. Peter's eyes are shut the entire time, his own cock rubbing painfully against Tony's leg.

Tony. Tony. _Tony._

"Deeper." Tony grits, gripping his hair tighter.

Peter does just that. He takes him to his shaft as deep as he's able and for a moment, he's choking, his eyes are watering and he tries again, but he just can't. He pulls away, coughing weakly as he's crouched on the floor, now very naked. Tony says nothing. He just watches him and Peter can't bring himself to look at him. He'll only be meeting disappointment in his eyes.

"Get up." Tony says, soft.

And Peter's eyes dart furtively at him, heart pounding. He tries to get up after a moment but he's been crouched on the floor for almost a half hour; his legs are asleep.

"Can't do anything can you?" Tony chuckles, reaching over to help him.

Peter doesn't know why Tony is being nice. Why Tony is doing anything here with him at all.

He lets Tony pick him up and throw him over his body. Peter doesn't look at him again, even as their cocks are against each others, pounding.

Tony hugs him then. "Why do you always look away from me?" he mumbles against his ear.

Peter stares hard at the headboard. He stays quiet for a few minutes. Tony was really asking him and he wanted answer. "Because." he starts. "You hate me."

Tony holds him tighter. "I do."

Peter lets out a shaky breath, he knew it. He just knew it. Tony was using him for his frustrations, something he needed to just get off to. It hurts— even though he expected this, it _still_ hurts and that's why he's trying to get up, to get away, but Tony just keeps holding him tighter.

"But I don't know why I can't stop staring at you." Tony says. "I hate that too."

"Let me go." Peter finally breaks. "Let me go right now."

"No." Tony is looking at him, trying to meet his eyes and Peter is just trying not to. "Look at me."

"No."

"Look at me."

Peter shoots his wet eyes at him, angry and hurt. "What do you want.”

Tony stares at him, "Tell me you hate me."

Peter doesn't delay. "I hate you."

"How much?"

"A lot--"

Tony immediately takes his lips, kissing him fiercely and Peter grasps at his face, just as desperate.

//

"Happy birthday." Tony tells him when they're finished and he's at the door, holding it open with his foot. Peter leans against the door frame, not knowing how to feel.

"Thanks..." he mumbles, "again."

Tony shakes his head, lips quirking. "No need to say thanks."

Peter looks down at his pinkish toes.

Tony turns away and walks out into the street.

Peter holds the door, eyes slowly going up to watch him. He walks confident, like a man, like he's sure he's one.

"I hate you." Peter mutters. He closes the door.

And he misses Tony stopping in his tracks, slowly turning around with an unsure look in his face.

// end


End file.
